Rain
by Whilom
Summary: The rain pouring over Helm's Deep will be the last thing a certain elven warrior ever feels.


**Disclaimer:** Tolkien's work, not mine.

**A/N:** Okay, I took some creative license due to inspiration from a picture and changed it so that Legolas did have the sea longing during Helm's Deep. I know, bad me, but I did it and I like it. So there. ;)

Also, to those who kindly corrected my spelling error, Galadhrim is now spelled correctly. If I missed one, let me know and I'll fix it.

* * *

_Rain. _

How he loved it. It scattered down the white petals that dotted the sweet Lorien grass and coated even the air with a kind of perfume only nature could afford. Lightning ripped the sky open and thunder followed with a groan of protest. Haldir realized that his eyes were closed—but he wanted to keep them that way. Because then he couldn't tell that he wasn't in Lothlorien. He was, at the moment, in one of the farthest places from his home: he was in Helm's Deep.

It wasn't that he was afraid of the Uruk-hai closing in around the Deep. He wasn't unwilling to give up his life for the cause of Men. He knew he wasn't alone. _Your friends are with you. _He was content to fight alongside his friends. But for a moment, one blessed moment, he wanted to revel in the coming rain and the peace it brought him before it was all dispelled in this last fight.

It would be his last fight. He had known it when the Lady Galadriel summoned him and Elrond gave him his message. _"I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell…Long ago we fought and died together…"_

He looked down his line of archers, pleased by their rigid stance. Every Galadhrim archer held his bow at his chest as a sign of respect and personal care for the weapon. He fingered the string of his own bow with a reverence that stemmed from being a warrior. He had relied on the weapon for his safety in battle countless times.

But tonight his bow would not save him. Again, he surveyed his army. Their bows would not save them either. They would all die this night, in the cool rain that caused his breath to fog. It reminded him that he was alive—and that he would soon be dead.

Haldir sensed a warm presence beside him and wasn't surprised when Legolas put a hand on his shoulder. He was armored only with boiled leather pauldrons, and many a Rohan soldier had shaken his head doubtfully at the elf's lack of protection. Haldir understood. Legolas was not only an archer, but a swordsman, needing freedom of movement to wield his twin blades.

"I do not fear this fight," Haldir said to the elf beside him though he didn't know why. "I am ready for it."

"I know."

Both elves stood, looking out at the vast expanse of torches held by angry Uruks.

"Rain is in the air. We will be fighting in it this night."

Haldir glanced at Legolas in surprise. It was as though the prince had read his thoughts. Perhaps he was gifted in the art of telepathy.

"I love the rain. It's clean and soft and welcoming. I remember it slipping from the trees of my home onto the forest floor." Legolas breathed deeply, shutting his eyes with a smile. "It brings peace."

"Not for those I have brought with me," Haldir said softly.

"You will never sail for Valinor."

"No."

There was silence; then Legolas asked, "Do you miss the Sea?"

"I have never heard it."

"Blessed are you," Legolas said softly, gripping his bow tighter.

Haldir looked at his friend with compassion. Legolas did not love the rain merely because it was rain—he loved it because it reminded him of the Sea. It reminded him of home, not Mirkwood, but Valinor, the final resting place for every elf.

"You will not die in this battle, my prince."

"Have you the gift of prophecy?" Legolas asked dryly.

"I have come prepared to die, knowing I die and all those with me." Haldir locked eyes with Legolas. "I do not regret my decision."

"I will be alone, then."

"Your friends are with you. And we will fight alongside you," Haldir declared firmly.

Legolas gripped the captain's shoulder and Haldir returned the gesture before the prince returned to his post.

Aragorn strode along the battlements, restless but not afraid. The pounding of the orcs' spears matched the pace of his feet and his heart. Standing behind Legolas, he followed the elf's gaze out over the swarming black mass of Uruk-hai. Lightning rippled above them, giving the Deep the appearance of day for a split second before the rain continued to pound.

"Your friends are with you, Aragorn," Legolas said quickly, embracing the words as Haldir had, with all his heart. He was prepared to die, to give up the rain, to give up the Sea. _Your friends are with you._ He wouldn't be alone. He wouldn't let Aragorn be alone.

The Ranger left his friend and continued surveying the approaching army. Was this what Boromir had felt when faced with so many of them? Had he feared their fierce brutality and the effective, mechanical logic that they displayed? He had fought them alone, and had nearly died alone.

Aragorn saw Haldir far on his right, at the end of the battlement, piercing the dark with his elven eyes. Rain began to fall and Aragorn listened to the soft pinging as it dropped onto the armor and shields of the men in Helm's Deep. He didn't need to look at Haldir to know that he would have his eyes shut. To an elf, the rain meant life and peace. To Aragorn, it was taunting him with the very things these soldiers fought for—and might lose.

Turning to his soldiers, he paced behind the Galadhrim archers, giving orders. "_A Eruchîn, ú-dano i faelas a hyn, an uben tanatha le faelas_. Show them no mercy, for you shall receive none!" he instructed. These were Haldir's men and the best of warriors. He had nothing to fear but for their lives. Yet Haldir had assured him that it was their choice. And the elven commander had seemed to know they would not return to their homes, either by his own senses or from the Lady Galadriel. _Your friends are with you._

The rain dripped from the Uruk's helmets, glancing off their spears. They hated the rain. And for that reason he loved it.

"_Tangado a chadad!_ Prepare to fire!" Aragorn cried.

Haldir lifted an arrow from his quiver and nocked it in one slow motion, leading the rest of the archers. _Your friends are with you._ The words he had said to Legolas brought peace into his own mind. He focused in on his target and waited for the signal. When it came, he mentally focused all his troubles on the tip of the arrow and freed it.

Haldir spun his blade to the right, jabbing and striking with the easy movement ingrained in him by years of training. It was almost too easy. The Uruks relied on brute strength to fight him and he was fast on his feet. The press of bodies made it more challenging to move in the way he was accustomed to, but he wasn't truly taxing himself. Pausing for a moment, he let his eyes scan the wall to calculate the number of Galadhrim warriors that had fallen. Too few remained fighting. Their time was running short.

He could see Legolas turn from his bow to his knives, reaching over his head to slip them from their sheaths and rock back on his heels as he let the Uruk's movement direct his actions. Haldir imagined his hands were slick with the wet and with blood, making it difficult for him to keep a grip on his knives and to keep steady among the clustered corpses.

Aragorn was fighting with all he had, manipulating the Uruk's strength in his own way. He was tiring, Haldir could see. Then he began commanding his small number of Galadhrim archers to fall back to the Keep.

A snarling noise brought Haldir back to his position and he sliced through an Uruk's chest before it could raise its weapon.

"Haldir! _Nan Barad!_ Back to the Keep!" Aragorn called. The commander nodded once and waved a hand at his archers, passing on the command in their language. They obeyed as they freed themselves from their assailants, running lightly past him as each dealt with the enemy. His own sword was busy, keeping the way free so they would not be trapped. He cut down an orc and turned. A sharp pain bit into his arm and he shoved his sword into the Uruk that had cut him.

Haldir caught his breath at the pain. He kept his arm at his chest and lurched forward unsteadily, watching the Galadhrim run back to the Keep. He was on his knees but he didn't understand how he got there. Rising up again, he could hear a snarling among the ringing in his ears and then a blade embedded itself into his back.

"_Haldir!"_

Was that Aragorn calling to him? He was trying to obey the order, trying to get back to the Keep. But he was dying, just as he knew he would be. He was on his knees again but rising was not his goal. Breathing was. His air left him in a slow sigh and his eyes flickered over the bodies on the ground. He was so near to them, holding on by a thread. Another strike and he would be among them. _Your friends are with you._ They would all die this night. He recognized every elvish face among the corpses. Would those still living remember his? Moisture dotted his face but he welcomed it. The rain had stopped falling and only a few sprinkles were left of the downpour that had begun the battle.

Warm breath met his ear and he felt himself pulled back into an embrace. Aragorn hovered over him he knew, but he couldn't see his face. The ringing in his ears had turned to the sound of soft raindrops. He couldn't feel it but he knew it was falling. He wanted to find it. The battle did not seem so important now—it was being taken care of by others. He felt no pain, only calm, and somewhere was heard the crash of the Sea. _Your friends are with you._

_Rain_.

How he loved it.


End file.
